


Imagine

by InkDrawnDreamer



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Deblanc has empty nest syndrome, Early morning talks, Fiore is a cuddler, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, Sleeping Together, sunrise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkDrawnDreamer/pseuds/InkDrawnDreamer
Summary: An angel and a demon muse as the sun rises.





	Imagine

It was just past five in the morning according to the glowing numbers that floated over the nightstand. DeBlanc shifted so that he could get a better view of the window, careful to keep from bumping the chin that rested on his shoulder. It was still dark outside, but there was a lighter, bluish glow growing on the horizon. Moonlight bled into their room, casting shadowy bars onto the headboard from where it leaked between the blinds. He hiked the comforter up over his face to block out the eerie brightness and felt Fiore mumble unenthusiastically into the space between his neck and shoulder, speaking in quiet, sleepy tongues. 

He smiled a little. Fiore was a surprisingly active sleeper. He often caught the angel talking in his sleep in between bouts of fidgeting and accidentally kicking him to the edge of the bed. Since he was still at the moment, DeBlanc took the opportunity to move closer to him, settling into the familiar softness of the mattress beneath them. They had been staying in this motel room for so long that it was beginning to feel almost homey. The bed had conformed to each of their shapes over time. They had quietly acquired standard sleeping positions as well. More often than not, Fiore was wrapped around DeBlanc almost in a fetal position, just barely able to keep from spilling over the bed's edges. DeBlanc slept best laying on his side, stretched thin, his shoulder cradling his partner's head. Sometimes Fiore's body covered his and sometimes he covered Fiore. He tended to hold him loosely, an arm draped over him, just enough to join them together. When Fiore covered him, he looped both arms around his waist like a harness. DeBlanc rather enjoyed it because it meant he could tuck his ear against the angel's chest, against his heart. The heartbeat of an adephi was a thing of beauty—like a musical instrument, it seemed to chime and drum as his chest rose and fell—almost like a built-in lullaby.

Just as he was beginning to listen to it again, the music changed, slowly rising, then falling into a low and lethargic rhythm as the angel stirred. He whimpered as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, clearly upset to be awake already.

DeBlanc tried to make it more bearable by kissing him on his cheek. "Good morning darling."

"Ugh, what?" Fiore sat up, wincing slightly at the sounds his bones made when he stretched. "What time is it?"

"Early. The sun's not up yet."

He looked rather dismayed at that. "Well can't I just go back to sleep then?"

"I don't know," the demon said. "Can you?"

He mulled it over for a moment, then groaned. "No, I think I'm wide-awake now." He flopped down again beside his partner, who patted his hair with a symapthetic smile. Fiore grumbled a little and scooted closer to him. 

"The sun will be up soon though." He sat up, letting the angel's arms fall from his shoulders, and made a beeline for the window. "Would you care to watch?"

Fiore shrugged. "Okay."

He tugged on the cord and the blinds flew up, allowing soft light to flood the room. Then he padded across the shadowed carpet to settle back in beside his partner.

"It's a very different view from Heaven," the angel said, transfixed on the glowing dot of the moon overhead. 

"Hm, and here I assumed you were more accustomed to looking down on it," the demon remarked in kind. "We could never get a good view in Hell."

"Of the moon?"

"Of anything."

"Ah," he said quietly as he inched closer to rest his head on his partner's chest. 

DeBlanc ran a languid hand through his hair. "Do you ever miss Heaven?"

"Before or after Genesis?"

"Before."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. "What's to miss?"

Heaven and Hell used similar constructs, and subsequently, those who were conceived there lived in similar conditions. Still, DeBlanc had rightfully expected a better quality of life from the former camp. After Genesis was conceived, its soon-to-be watchers were ripped away from their respective settings with little chance of ever returning. Their different reactions were actually what had cemented his theory; whereas Fiore has assumed he was being punished, DeBlanc could not have accepted the role any faster. 

"The parts away from the fighting were peaceful," Fiore finally replied."I like Earth much better though."

That was no surprise. When they first arrived, he had already decided to hate the planet in its entirety. Now, nearly everything they encountered excited him. For whatever reason, he especially loved comics and junk food. He enjoyed them in a manner not unlike that of human children high on the sense of rebellion achieved from consuming such forbidden treats. It was actually somewhat cute seeing him so engrossed in those small comforts. 

"Do _you_ ever miss it?" This time, he did the asking. "Any of it?"

DeBlanc fixed his eyes on the window. Nothing about Hell was worth missing. Their living arrangements in Heaven had been comfortable, albeit very restrictive. Aside from Fiore, there was only one other thing that had ever made him truly happy.

"I miss Genesis."

His bedmate sighed, unsurprised, and propped himself up on his elbows, sitting up just enough to pull him into his arms. The angel's weight draped across his body was a warm and welcome presence. The hum in his chest was low, lethargic, and achingly familiar, not unlike the quiet whimpers Genesis would make—back when DeBlanc could still hold it in his hands, and soothe it with rhymes and songs until its fussing turned to something almost like laughter. Before it had become a willing tool at the disposal of yet another pretentious "man of God". 

"I know you miss 'im." His voice flowed in perfect tune alongside the melody. The song in his chest was not entirely under his control, but it did often align with his thoughts. The music often matched itself to images and sounds as if describing them in some other language. In this case, it spoke for him, and all that he wished he could say to soothe his partner's anguish. What he could not say himself, his hands did instead, knotting themselves together around DeBlanc's waist to bring him closer as Fiore pressed their bodies back against the bed. 

While he let the angel envelop him, DeBlanc was still far away, a grim expression set into his face. "Sometimes I wish it was ours."

Fiore shot up suddenly, and his arms retracted quick as a measuring tape. The incredulity plastered on his face bordered on betrayal. "What?"

He drew in a sharp breath. "Sometimes, I wish Genesis was more than just our charge." He said every word carefully and deliberately. "Sometimes I wish we had been the ones to create it."

 _Are you insane?_ The angel told him as much without even speaking. His expression said it all, and beneath that plain confusion and perturbation, something else lurked as well. A similar sort of longing.

"You wish for it too, don't you?" It sounded less like a question than it did a simple statement of fact. Not surprising, really. Demons were actually much better attuned to emotions than angels were. Despite all the beliefs humans had about love and empathy in regards to angels, they were actually a somewhat dense group. Emotions were distractions, and they often took a backseat to aggression and cold, strategic logic in the course of their eternal war. Demons, on the other hand, relied on manipulation, which required a better than average understanding of what motivated people. That, and Fiore had all the impassiveness of an impatient child.

"Occasionally." His face relaxed. "I have wondered about how different our situation would be, had we been the ones to conceive Genesis."

"Well then?"

"Well what?"

"How different would things be?" DeBlanc was curious now. "Better? Worse?"

The angel blew out a long sigh and leaned back against the headboard, chewing it over in his mind. DeBlanc watched him process the question expectantly. Eyed his pale, slightly parted lips in anticipation, waiting a moment before letting his sight travel along the illuminated edge of his jaw. He silently traced Fiore's cutout in the half-light, the slope of his shoulder, the curving dip of his back, and the slight bump of his chest beneath his crossed arms. The paling blue that was filling up the room made his skin take on an almost fluorescent sort of glow.

"Well," Fiore spoke back up as if they had never paused the conversation at all. "I think you would fuss over 'im the most."

A nod. "That's fair."

"You would be some kind of artist. You'd have pictures all over your arms." he gestured up and down his own forearms. "I would be an architect, but a different kind. Less natural. More to do with concrete and metal. Lots of drawing and blue paper." 

He seemed slightly disgruntled by his own idea, but he continued. "We'd have a small place for ourselves. Just room enough for our lot, crammed full of things."

"What kinds of things?" DeBlanc's palm hovered against his partner's.

"Mostly paper," he hummed. "Drawings, books, and whatnot. Jammed into every bit of space." 

DeBlanc pushed his fingers against his, entwining them together. Eyes shut, with their warmth in his hand, he could clearly picture what his partner described. He could see them, fussing and amusing themselves as they rolled paint over white walls. Hunched over cluttered piles of papers, ignoring them in favor of letting out breathy laughs between kisses. Lying side by side in the dark, mumbling adorations into the newly-minted ears of a gabbing infant. It looked strange, and messy but it felt marvelous, and that was what hurt most about it. 

He raised the angel's hand to his lips. "Would we be happy?" he seemed to mutter it into his palm. 

Fiore's tone had the slightest sad edge to it. "Yes." he said it so quietly he could barely be heard. "Very happy."

They held it between the two of them—a simple idea that beat and fluttered in their clasped hands that they refused to let go. It was a painful moment, but also a good one, because they knew that this was a desire that they shared, even if it never could come to fruition.

On the other side of the window, the sun had pushed the most of the dark back toward the horizon, taking with it the stars and visible sliver of the moon. Fiore scooted himself lower on the mattress, letting DeBlanc rest his head against his shoulder as he followed suit. The approaching sunlight made him feel even more tired than before. DeBlanc must have sensed it, because he pulled the blanket up over their chests and pressed a long, sleepy kiss against his partner's neck. The angel answered him with one on the cheek and pulled him closer, arms around him, cradling the side of his head. 

"I suppose we don't need to start work so early," He remarked.

"That sounds nice." Fiore's stared out the window. "Y'know, even if we can never have...that." He made some odd gesture toward the window. "I'm–I'm happy we have this."

The demon smiled, genuinely and contented. "As do I, my dear." 


End file.
